


After Idris

by megzseattle



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Whatever effect the Sondriens had on the Doctor, it was brief. As they walked back to the ship in the gathering evening, soft clouds of firefly-like creatures winking around them to light their way, the Doctor moved from being outright talkative to being slightly reserved to being mostly monosyllabic. By the time the ship came into view he was downright unresponsive. Amy and Rory both felt the change, but felt powerless to stop it. Amy slid her hand into the Doctor's the way she had a thousand times, but he didn't respond to her squeeze and soon found a reason to move his hand away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after The Doctor's Wife in season 6. Exploring the Doctor's sense of loss, mainly from Rory's perspective. Please read and review, I would love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter One

1

They were running for their lives. Again. Rory almost couldn't remember what from this time. Was it the ravenous beetles from Kadoon? No, that was last week. Was it an angry horde of medieval peasants who considered them witches? No, that was the day before yesterday. What day was it again? Oh right. It was the tentacle creature from the cavern on Beta 6. The one who wasn't supposed to be there, in the supposedly uninhabited crystal-growing caverns that were one of the wonders of the supposedly uninhabited portion of the galaxy.

Right then, back to the running.

In front of him, just as his lungs were beginning to burn, the TARDIS finally came into view, parked on the ledge next to the waterfall, right where they'd left it. The Doctor whipped out the key and pulled Amy and Rory inside, quickly, and just in time as a huge tentacled arm shot out and splatted on the wood of the door as it shut behind them.

"Ha!" the Doctor cried, spinning around in triumph. "Well, we showed him, eh?"

Rory didn't comment. Amy loved the running, for certain, and most of the time Rory did too, but they both agreed that the Doctor had gotten a little more reckless lately. Ever since the visit to the sentient asteroid that revealed Idris, the soul of the TARDIS, to him. The visit that let him finally speak to and feel a deeper connection with his beloved ship. And then took her away.

2

"He's lonely, Rory," Amy said as they lounged on the bottom half of their (no longer a bunk) bed later that night. "Can't you see it in his eyes?"

Rory thought on that. In spite of everything they'd been through, he still didn't feel like he knew the Doctor well. Not as well as Amy by any means, but regardless, the Doctor's sense of loss when Idris dissipated back into the ship had been blindingly apparent, even to him. He had looked downright broken, defeated. Both Rory and Amy had instinctively kept silent as he mastered the emotions racing through him in that moment, his grief somehow too large for their small words.

"We need to help him," Amy said, yawning in spite of herself. Too much running made for easy sleep, and she was out moments later. Rory, however, lay awake into the night. Two thousand years of waiting had taught him a thing or two about loneliness, about loss and guilt and the pain of being alone in the world. It had also taught him patience. He would figure out a way to help, no matter what. It was just a matter of waiting for an opening.

3

The next day they visited the court of the Enlightened Rulers of Sondrien Majorica, five thousand years in the future. The Sondriens were a peaceful race who communicated mainly by singing, with the occasional telepathy thrown in.

"This is like being trapped in an opera," Amy complained, which earned her a stern look from the Doctor. These were a beautiful people, he explained, among the most advanced in the universe. Their entire culture was based on a barter system that involved trading ephemeral works of beauty for needed goods and services. This was the one place in the universe that a song was worth more than a bag of gold.

"Try not to be a philistine, Pond, just for one night," he said. The Doctor bopped her on the nose, gently, to let her know the taunt wasn't meant harshly.

Amy harumphed, but she settled back on the silken cushions they'd been provided with at the banquet and tried to enjoy herself. Rory had a much easier time accepting the pace of the evening's entertainments. For once, no one died, no one tried to kill them. Rory considered those the base requirements for a good evening, and was satisfied that for once those requirements showed every appearance of being met.

The Sondrien people viewed the Doctor as a great hero, and they feted him accordingly. Sondrien girls in their pale blue robes brought them small fruits that looked like grapes but tasted like bananas, and young men brought them platters of bread and a pale, golden cheese that sparkled effervescently in the mouth. Wine, or something like it, flowed. And, of course, the music was a constant murmur all around them.

Rory watched the Doctor, and felt like he saw the concrete set of his shoulders ease a tad. Something in his jaw unclenched, his eyes warmed watching the Sondrien people bring out their best for him. He and the Enlightened Rulers consulted throughout the night, sharing melodic repartee and point-and-counterpoint plainsong conversation.

"Amy, I think he's relaxed," Rory whispered at one point.

Amy smiled and fed him a grape. "I know," she agreed. "I think this is a good thing."

He thought about pointing out that this was also the first night in recent memory in which no one had tried to kill them, but he didn't think it was a good idea to taunt the universe that way.

4

Whatever effect the Sondriens had on the Doctor, it was brief. As they walked back to the ship in the gathering evening, soft clouds of firefly-like creatures winking around them to light their way, the Doctor moved from being outright talkative to being slightly reserved to being mostly monosyllabic. By the time the ship came into view he was downright unresponsive. Amy and Rory both felt the change, but felt powerless to stop it. Amy slid her hand into the Doctor's the way she had a thousand times, but he didn't respond to her squeeze and soon found a reason to move his hand away.

He shook them off shortly after they entered the TARDIS, urging them to pop off to bed and all but escorting them there in a whirlwind of frenetic activity, then disappeared deep into the bowels of the ship muttering something about repairs.

"He's getting worse," Rory said.

What could they do? Amy knew he needed to talk, but getting the Doctor to open up about his feelings was never an easy proposition. Even with his volatile emotions, he so easily slipped behind his mask, calm and equitable and game for anything, his eyes kindly but distant. It was hard for anyone to break through when he didn't want them to do so. After all this time, Amy still knew so little about him. Getting to really know the Doctor was like a game of hide and seek, carefully watching and listening for the words behind the words, noticing the silences and understanding their meaning, catching the glimmers of emotion that broke through.

Rory heaved himself up off of the bed. "I'm going to try to find him," he announced. "See if he will talk to me. I am a nurse, after all. If someone's suffering, I can't just sit here and watch."

Amy kissed him gently. "You're the best," she said quietly. "Good luck."

(continued)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor pulled his goggles off and met Rory's eyes, and for a long beat Rory thought he might just get tossed out on his ear. A variety of emotions seemed to run over the Doctor's face. Irritation, anxiety, even a brief moment of disdain. Through it all Rory simply looked back, unblinking, holding himself as the Roman he had been, meeting gaze for gaze, unafraid. Finally something in the Doctor's face softened, and he simply held out a bundle of cords to Rory.

Rory looked everywhere, beginning in the console room and underneath it, in the library, and in the Doctor's study. When none of those worked, he wandered the corridors aimlessly, trying to open his mind to the TARDIS to ask for help.

"Show me where he is," he whispered. Rory shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, there was a door before him he hadn't seen before.

Rory was not one to insert himself forcefully in a situation where he wasn't wanted. That was Amy's specialty. Amy would have bounded through that door without a moment's hesitation. But Rory, ever watchful, ever patient, hesitated. The Doctor was a private man, and he hated to overstep. However, he was their friend and he was suffering. Rory raised his hand and knocked firmly.

After a long moment, a voice from inside mumbled something that sounded enough like a "come in".

The room was poorly lit, but appeared to be a workroom of sorts. There was a long work bench along one wall, various clamps and contraptions attached to it, and an astonishing amount of what appeared to be computer parts scattered all over the room. The Doctor was seated on a high stool and hunching over something, large goggles on and some sort of soldering iron in his hand.

"Rory," he said grimly. "Come to check up on me?"

"Yes," Rory replied simply. "I have."

The Doctor pulled his goggles off and met Rory's eyes, and for a long beat Rory thought he might just get tossed out on his ear. A variety of emotions seemed to run over the Doctor's face. Irritation, anxiety, even a brief moment of disdain. Through it all Rory simply looked back, unblinking, holding himself as the Roman he had been, meeting gaze for gaze, unafraid. Finally something in the Doctor's face softened, and he simply held out a bundle of cords to Rory.

"Here," the Doctor said, "Hold this."

And so they spent the next hour soldering, routing wires, affixing chips, and otherwise doing work that Rory found incomprehensible, not speaking but simply sitting shoulder to shoulder in a mostly comfortable silence.

Rory couldn't not ask anymore. "What are we doing, Doctor?"

The Doctor sighed. "Getting her back," he replied tersely.

"Getting who back?"

"Idris." The Doctor looked determinedly at his work. "I thought if I could create an interface for her, perhaps we could hear her voice again."

Rory thought deeply for a moment. "Is that possible?"

The Doctor didn't know. Most likely not. He knew the TARDIS wasn't created to work this way. Oh, of course she could use a quick AI program to project a hologram and speak a pre-recorded program or follow a simple set of instructions such as the emergency return program, but this was a far cry from the free will she had when she was placed in a living, breathing human body and had fully self-aware consciousness. The Doctor could have fooled himself, created a hologram to interact with him and play back one side of a conversation he would like to have with the ship, but it wouldn't help. It wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be conversing, talking with mouths. He missed it so badly, seeing her and hearing her, that it felt like one of his hearts had been removed. His oldest and in some ways his only friend, the only one who had been with him through every moment and every body, the only one who would not be taken from him.

"Doctor," Rory said, putting his hand on the Doctor's shoulder, "We're worried about you."

"Oh rubbish," he replied, picking up the computer they had been wrestling with. "Nothing to worry about! I'm perfectly okay. Let's go try this out." And with that he was out of the room like a whirlwind, Rory trailing behind.

2

The Doctor did a quick rigamarole to hook the laptop he'd been modifying up to the central console in some way, pulling off a few levers that he didn't remember seeing used very often and routing various power couplings in and out of various ports in a way that looked for all the world like he was building a bomb.

"Doctor," Rory said slowly, "that looks like it might explode."

The Doctor gave him a quick grin. "Trust me, Rory. I'm the Doctor." And with a great deal of flourish, he flipped a small switch, pumped a rotor, and hit a few keys on the laptop.

Which promptly blew up in a shower of sparks.

The Doctor stared at in uncomprehendingly.

It exploded.

It had literally exploded.

The burnt out shell of the laptop sent up tendrils of black smoke, finally sending the Doctor into motion. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from somewhere underneath the console and sent a small stream of foam at the smoldering remains. Then he threw himself down in the jump seat and rubbed his forehead with his hand, eyes shut.

"This isn't the first time you've tried this, is it?" Rory asked.

The Doctor shook his head no.

"How many?"

For a moment Rory thought the Doctor wasn't going to answer him.

"Sixteen," he finally said.

Rory was flabbergasted. "So, every night you all but short out the ship trying to rig up some kind of super-laptop that can work with an eleven dimensional being, and when it doesn't work you run off into some kind of ultra-dangerous alien encounter where we're nearly killed?"

The Doctor stood, his voice cold. "This is how I travel, Rory. You know that."

Rory was not backing down. "Yes, but you must admit it's been especially dangerous lately."

"Yes, well, perhaps." All of a sudden, the Doctor just sounded incredibly tired. "Perhaps we need a rest, all of us."

Rory nudged the Doctor off in the direction of his quarters. "Beginning with sleep for you. Nurse's orders."

To his amazement, the Doctor seemed to agree and headed off towards his own bedroom immediately. Rory stared at the wreck on the console for a moment, then headed off to find his wife and his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Watch this," the Doctor said, suddenly inspired. He pulled out the sonic and pointed it at the fire, and suddenly the streams of sparks rising were dancing in a spiral pattern. He adjusted a setting on the screwdriver and applied it again and they started to raise and form swirling, pulsing stars, a whole tiny galaxy. They all watched it intently, even the Doctor spellbound by the spectacle's ephemeral beauty. The soft shush of the surf in the background and the crackle of the flames were hypnotic.

The next day, the Doctor made an effort. He landed them somewhere he said was a surprise, strode to the front door and flung it open theatrically.

"Behold, Ahmelo Beach, pride of the Beta system!" He tried not to show his surprise when that turned out to be, for once, exactly where they were. No unexpected slobbering beast was there to devour them, no interplanetary war had broken out, no unexpected typhoon was raging just off shore — instead, soft, white sand littered with shells sloped gently down to the edge of purple-tinted surf. The beach was deserted. The air was warm. It appeared to be late afternoon.

"You look startled," Amy noted.

"Not at all," he replied, and clapped his hands briskly. "Now! Everyone go find something appropriately beachy to wear and meet back here in ten minutes. We're taking a day off."

Shortly thereafter, they were buried toe deep in sand with baskets of books and snacks, wearing tropical shirts and swimsuits and the most ridiculous straw hats they could find. The afternoon passed quietly, all of them reading and swimming and snoozing. As dusk approached, they decided to build a bonfire and enjoy the night sky. Rory massed a large pile of driftwood and salvaged some newsprint from the ship for kindling, and the Doctor used the sonic screwdriver to spark it alight.

"Better, Ponds?" the Doctor asked quietly. The Doctor lay back on a blanket, propped up on his elbows with his feet near the fire. He closed his eyes, but his face was golden in the light, his expression gentle.

"It's a lovely fire, Doctor," Amy replied. "Great job."

The Doctor smiled a little. "You know that's not what I meant."

They all stared into the fire, transfixed by the tiny sparks flying up out of it. It had been good to have a day when no one was afraid or running for their life, when they could just be still. Honestly, such things hardly ever happened around the Doctor, even when everything was fine. The silence that fell was companionable. Amy flopped down beside the Doctor, her head tucked into his shoulder as she gazed up into the sky, while Rory amused himself tossing small bits of paper into the fire to watch them dance and glow.

"Watch this," the Doctor said, suddenly inspired. He pulled out the sonic and pointed it at the fire, and suddenly the streams of sparks rising were dancing in a spiral pattern. He adjusted a setting on the screwdriver and applied it again and they started to raise and form swirling, pulsing stars, a whole tiny galaxy. They all watched it intently, even the Doctor spellbound by the spectacle's ephemeral beauty. The soft shush of the surf in the background and the crackle of the flames were hypnotic.

"Doctor, we know how much you miss her," Rory said. "You haven't been right since we left House."

The fact that The Doctor didn't immediately tense up or pull away felt like progress. He sat up and picked up the stick Rory had been poking the fire with and rooted around a bit at the kindling, causing more sparks to flicker and rise.

"You're right, you're right," he sighed. "I know I haven't. I thought some good old fashioned running would get me back to rights. It hasn't." He poked, and a shower of sparks flew, coalesced into something that looked like an angelfish, or perhaps a star whale. "Perhaps I need an army to fight."

Amy laid a hand on his shoulder. "She's still here with us, you know."

"Yes, yes, but I can't talk with her anymore. You have no idea what that was like. Nine hundred years she's been with me and I never really got to meet her until then." He poked the fire again. "And I got to speak with her for what, an hour? Slightly less?"

A cloud of bright, amber sparks swirled up and became a shape that looked something like a woman. It whorled around madly, tracing a circle around the perimeter of the fire. All three of them watched it, enraptured. With its crooked skirts and its odd hair, it was hauntingly familiar. The Doctor's hearts caught in his throat and his hands clutched at the blanket. The figure danced to music that no one else could hear, pirouetting crazily, and then dispersed into the night sky.

Rory realized that none of them had been breathing.

"A madman and his box," the Doctor mused. "You have no idea what it's like to constantly have everyone and everything slipping away from you."

"I know something about that," Rory said quietly, causing Amy and the Doctor to turn to look at him, startled. It was true. Two thousand years Rory waited outside the Pandorica, during which he had inevitably become entangled in the lives of the people he encountered, despite his intentions of holding himself away from the world. He had made and lost friends and lovers, fought and bonded with fellow soldiers and seen them cut down, treated the sick and bemoaned the lack of modern medicine as he failed more often than not to save them, and watched the rise and fall of numerous cultures. He had wept when Rome burned, shut away the horror of the whole villages he knew and loved lost to the plague, seen the bombs fall on London and watched children burn and starve. Rory knew a few things about loss.

The Doctor turned to him with new eyes, considering. "Rory the Roman. Roranicus. I hadn't thought about that. Yes, I suppose you do."

"I had Amy, though," Rory said, "through it all. I had her to come back to."

"And you have us," Amy added. "So stop torturing the computers of the world and come back to the living. Enough laptops have died for you this month. And we miss you."

The Doctor genuinely laughed, a sound they had not heard in quite some time, and then he reached out and took both of their hands. He leapt wildly to his feet. "Come on, Ponds," he said, "it's time to dance."

"There's no music," Rory pointed out, stumbling up to standing.

"Rubbish," the Doctor said. "We are alive, we have warm sand beneath our toes, and we have a fire. What else do we need?" And they leapt and spun beneath the stars in the sky, like sparks themselves, feeling the fierce and fragile joy of being alive.

2

Later that night, after the Ponds were tucked into bed, the Doctor revisited his workroom. It really was quite a large pile of dead laptops, he had to admit. He picked up the goggles, but idly this time, fingered his soldering iron. For some reason he just didn't feel like trying it again tonight. Was that progress? He supposed it was. He sat down on his stool, his brain feeling calmer than usual. In the background, the ship hummed along as it always did inside his mind - not words exactly, but a presence nonetheless. He could feel her. That wasn't nothing.

He closed his eyes and pictured Idris as he'd last seen her. That crazy gray dress, with its bustle and uneven skirts, hair wild and spilling out of every effort to contain it, eyes wide with interest at every sensation. My beautiful idiot, she had called him. You have what you have always had. You have me.

"I do," he mused quietly. "I do still have you. It's different, but you're still with me." The ship hummed a little in response, and the lights gave a friendly little flicker.

"You hear me, don't you?" he asked. Again a little flicker. And whether it was the TARDIS and it's song or some way the ship was touching his mind, the Doctor was suddenly infused with a feeling of warmth and comfort. He would almost call it ... companionship.

He realized, suddenly, that he was, after all, a Time Lord. He was prone to the oddest of relationships and held things in his head that would burn through the brain of an ordinary human. He could sense multiple flows of time at once, the whirling chaos of space. He had looked into the untempered schism and survived it relatively intact. Who was to say that his relationship with the TARDIS was less intense simply because they would never again be face to face? They were bound on a quantum and telepathic level, would never truly be apart. Who else in the universe could say such a thing?

He squared his shoulders, picked up a box, and started sweeping pieces of equipment into it. Enough. He was going to have to give up this new hobby, stop driving himself to the edge of despair every night chasing after an illusion. The reality was here in front of him, in every molecule of his body and of the ship around him, in the hum in the air and the soft song the TARDIS played in his mind.

The Doctor was the last of his kind, she was the last of hers, and they were the lasts together.

He was not, and would never be, alone.


End file.
